


Highway To Hell

by Perdition



Series: Sons Of Perdition [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-07
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perdition/pseuds/Perdition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU to DMC3:  Vergil and Dante are partners of a sort in the as-yet unnamed demon hunting business.  Out of the blue, Vergil packs their bags and drags Dante on a cross-country roadtrip.  But is he doing it just to collect money he's owed from people, as he claims?  Or are they running from something instead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hint Of Her Blood

It was a surprisingly cramped little hotel room. That had originally been Dante's thoughts on the matter, but in the end, it wasn't like they had a choice. It was either the ultra-micro room in the middle of nowhere, or the car, which...Admittedly wasn't much bigger. But the room had had a _bathroom_, questionable as it had been when they'd first entered, and Dante found himself kicked right out again as Vergil went into overdrive sterilizing it. Dante figured either he didn't need to tell Vergil how bad the types of places like the one they'd been forced into staying in were because either Vergil already knew himself, or it was better to leave him ignorant.

So Dante just found other ways to amuse himself. The town itself was _tiny_, and Dante was admittedly a big city boy. So was his brother, considering, and they were...More than out of their element, in the stop-whistle town somewhere in the middle of Mississippi. It was one of those places where a person really wondered about the locals, and whether they were inbred or not. It was, and they stared. It wasn't like it was early in the evening, where one would expect the yokels to be out on their porches, with the way they lacked anything resembling modern living whatsoever. It was creeping up on midnight, which was the only reason they'd stopped in the first place. After all, they'd been going since two mornings ago, non-stop, alternating driving (with much slapping involved).

It was a creepy little place, and Dante wasn't the type to deny that. But he'd braved an hour, by God, walking around and giving Vergil time to do...Whatever it was when Vergil got that way. Dante wasn't sure. He always got kicked out for it. But an hour, indeed, ended up being all he could stand.

Thus hour later he was back in the room, and while Vergil didn't have it quite to hospital standards, it was damn close. The room, honestly, smelled as though a can of lysol had simply thrown up in there, which made it hard for Dante to keep from gagging himself. But that was fine! It was, because Dante was tired, and had no plans to stay awake to be bothered with it. And Vergil was in a pissy mood to begin with, really, so Dante had no qualms at all about getting undressed almost the minute he'd entered, not even bothering to pass a word to the elder twin before hitting the sack (which, he noticed, Vergil had also sterilized the hell out of, but that was fine with Dante, too, considering).

The little red numbers on the clock Dante couldn't see (it was behind him) read 3:40 when he started awake, finding himself almost nose to nose with Vergil, which, while disturbing in its own right, wasn't what had spooked him. Well. He didn't think so, anyway. Vergil, of course, was out like a light, and snoring (and that bastard totally denied he snored, too), completely oblivious to the stale, dead feeling of the air in the room. Must've been nice, as far as Dante could see it. And that was funny, because it was usually just the opposite. Vergil was the light sleeper, and Dante was the one who could sleep through Doomsday and then some. But all in all, it made sense. Vergil _had_ done most of the driving to that point, and then he'd rid the hotel room of any nasties that could have lurked in a short amount of time.

Which was why Dante showed a little consideration, goddammit, as he sat up and swung his legs over his side of the bed, doing his best not to wake Vergil as he yawned and rubbed at an eye. Besides, he didn't want to deal with the flaming, pms-y hellbeast Vergil would be if he did get stirred from his 'beauty rest', and Dante really didn't want to have to put a fist through his face or anything. Really.

But whatever it was in the air made his skin crawl, and he rubbed at his arms as he shuffled across the room to the lone window, completely covered with blinds. That had been a small luxury he hadn't been expecting, with the state of everything else; a little privacy. As much of an exhibitionist as he could be, really...The people in the town were creepy. It reminded him of a movie he'd seen once, though the title escaped him, and it wasn't important, anyway, as he leaned forward and pried the blinds apart with two fingers, peering outside.

The only light was from the one lightpost by the road, which, admittedly, wouldn't offer much visibility to someone who was 'normal'. But to someone like Dante (and he gauged Vergil's vision was even better, in that respect), he could see fine, even if the world was tinged amber and yellow from the streetlight. And, honestly, nothing looked amiss at all. He could see the faint breeze stirring the trees in the distance, and making the power lines strung between posts sway ever so slightly, and if he listened hard enough, he could hear the rustle of leaves, and cars on the highway, a few miles away. It seemed, for all practical purposes, like any other calm, clear night in some nowhere small town.

Which completely didn't explain the feeling that had him on edge and his skin trying to worm its way right off of his bones. He glanced back into the room, frowning, before turning once more to the window, wondering if he wasn't just hyped up on excess energy at being trapped in a car for two days straight, because Vergil was still dead to the world; that wasn't normal, really, if something really was wrong. Vergil would have been the first on alert for that, right? Right.

Besides, Vergil's senses were way sharper than Dante's, and if Vergil wasn't up in arms about it, there was nothing to worry about. Dante nodded a few times to himself, as though that would convince him that's all there was, before shuffling back for the bed, keeping as quiet as he could. If there wasn't anything to worry about, there was no reason to wake Vergil until he did so on his own. And Dante knew his twin, probably too well, in every respect: It probably wouldn't be another two hours before Vergil was up and about, and Dante slept until it was well past sunrise. And as it should be.

Of course, that thought didn't stop him from tugging Ivory from the holster on his jacket and taking it back to bed with him, stuffing it under the pillow before crawling back in himself. While a gun, really, seemed like a ludicrous weapon to have on hand if it was something like Dante was imagining, Dante, of course, knew better in that respect. Vergil could hate them all he wanted; they were built and equipped for taking out the supernatural.

Several moments passed, while Dante forced himself to relax where his muscles had threatened to lock themselves, in a state of readiness, because really. He was a little old, and a little in the wrong line of work, to get spooked by the dark. And that, really, was beginning to look like all it was. Of course, having Vergil right there wasn't helping with the relaxing part, but he damn sure gave it a go. Vergil was breathing on him, though, and that made his skin crawl more, and he shifted, putting his back to the elder twin in order to better ignore it.

One hand slid under the pillow, to get a grip on his gun, and he found himself staring at the wall, ears pricked for any sound out of the ordinary. He had expected to hear rural sounds, in such a small farming town; things like owls and frogs and God only knew what else that lurked out in the woods a scant acre from the tiny motel, but there was nothing. Letting out a breath, he concluded that had to be it. It was just the absence of the sounds he'd been expecting that had him so unnerved, and that was silly. He almost laughed at himself for it, before shutting his eyes and trying to force himself back to sleep.

He'd almost managed it, too, before he was nearly knocked right out of bed as Vergil bolted upright, out of a sound sleep. To Dante, that was a bad sign, if a little late in coming, the slow-assed bastard. Less comforting was when he realized Vergil had kept Yamato right next to his side of the bed, and that that was the first thing the elder twin reached for before his feet had even hit the floor.

It didn't take him long to scramble after him to his own, bringing Ivory with him as he went, before a finger was firmly shoved into his face, on level with the tip of his nose. His eyes crossed a moment, as he focused on it, before he shook his head and scowled, already opening his mouth to protest. He knew what the finger meant. He did. It meant Vergil was about to go steal all the fun, if there was anything out there at all, and there Dante had been the one jittering around over it while Vergil had went about sawing some serious logs.

And that just wasn't going to fly.

Vergil didn't even glance at him, as he shifted Yamato to the hand that had pointed a finger so ominously at Dante and reached for his jacket. "Stay here." Did he think Dante was going to listen? Of course not. That was just going to be the younger twin's only warning, which was something Dante himself was very well aware of. Not that he cared or anything. Vergil's jacket was yanked on, and the elder twin was moving, bare feet, no shirt, and all. Which, to Dante, said it was twice as bad. Vergil? Going out and about for whatever it was looking less than perfect? Big trouble.

Which was why Dante wasted no time yanking on his own jacket, hot on Vergil's heels out of the door. No. Vergil was not stealing it all for himself, because whatever it was had woken him from a _sound fucking sleep_, and it didn't matter if Vergil thought he was king of the sandbox or some shit. Still, it was nice to have some confirmation that he wasn't just going flat-out insane...Even if that confirmation came from the biggest tinfoil hat wearing loony he knew.

That was also perfectly fine. Because as batshit as Vergil was in most situations, Dante was...Well, some would call him a dumbass for it, and maybe they were right, but he trusted Vergil, when it came to their area of 'expertise', as it were. He truly did. Dante was, after all, well aware of the fact that if anyone was going to lay a smackdown on him of any sort, Vergil had it in his head that it would be him, and only him, that did so. Oh, Dante acted like he was oblivious to that, but it was a mutual feeling. Which was why he wasn't worried at all. Well. Unless it happened to be something even Vergil couldn't handle, and then he'd be fucked.

He pointedly didn't think about that.

The motel was set up so that every room door opened to the parking lot, with the office in the middle of them. Dante hadn't noticed it earlier, but it was painted pink, too. Disturbing that, but then, they'd both decided beggers couldn't be choosers when it came to stopping for the night. The office itself was where Vergil was headed, and Dante plodded along behind him, Ivory still clutched in one hand.

The red and blue neon sign outside the door flickered as they approached, buzzing in hitches into the otherwise quiet night, before Vergil paused and held up a hand to signal to Dante, cocking his head slightly to the side. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, so that even Dante was forced to strain to hear him over the sign. "Consider this a note for the future." He glanced over his shoulder at Dante, eyes slanted in slight amusement. "Bottomfeeders prefer to have rural hunting grounds, as their prey can be contributed to the attacks of wild animals, unlike the city."

As if that made any sense whatsoever, and Dante's look said it all, before he rolled his eyes. "Uh huh."

Vergil snorted, realizing passing on anything to Dante was a lost cause, and reached out, grabbing Dante by a shoulder before he could react, bouncing up on the ball of one foot and slamming the other into the door, snapping the lock and sending the door flying inward with the force.

And, of course, he wasn't disappointed, or wrong, in his assumptions. There, in the middle of the small office, the rolling chair the desk attendant had been slouched in rolled to one side, was such a creature; blackened, scaly skin covered its long emaciated form, where it hunched over said attendant, who was smeared from one end of the office to the other, the light bulb overhead doused in blood so the whole room glowed an unearthly red. It was a nasty thing, with spikes along its spine and long, claw-like webbed fingers, the bottom half of its anatomy shaped like some sort of rodent, with its legs bent at an angle far too sharp to be remotely human.

So engrossed it had been in its impromtu meal, it hadn't even acknowledged the two in the doorway; Vergil's expression as bland as could be, with Dante peeping in horror over his shoulder on tip toe. Only when Yamato was slid from its sheath with a slick click of metal did it look up with unnaturally wide, yellow eyes, blinking once, before hissing and arching like a threatened cat.

"You see? Bottomfeeder." It was meant to provoke, and provoke it did, as, with another hiss and a gathering in of itself, the thing (demon) sprang, headed right for Vergil's face.

It was simultaneous, really, as Yamato's blade bit into the thing's neck, and a bullet tore through its forehead, the ricochet unnaturally loud in the night, before thing fell with a fountaining of brackish, black blood from the stump of its neck and a thud, and Vergil snorted, spinning Yamato once and sliding the blade between his fingers before shaking them to the side, like he always did, the big sissy. "Well. That was a tad anti-climatic."

"Uh, yeah, just a bit." Even if Dante was somewhat wide-eyed, where he stood behind Vergil, stuffing Ivory away against his back. Dante was no stranger to gruesome scenes of slaughter, that was very true, but the hick town motel had been the last place he'd expected to see it. Especially in that quantity. He'd have never guessed one body could hold that much blood, and the smell of it was everywhere, making him twitch.

"So, uh, now what."

"We raze it to the ground." It was calmly said, as Yamato slid home with a click, and Vergil moved further into the room, ignoring the blood that covered everything. "After a shower. I refuse to take to the road again like this."

"This place becomes the Bates Motel and you're worried about a fucking shower?" Dante stayed where he was in the doorway, eyes widening incredulously at Vergil, before rolling dramatically in their sockets. "Vergil. That shot has got to have been heard by every fucking body in this goddamn motel. We need to vamoose, like, now."

"They're all dead." Inspection of the office complete, Vergil turned from where he stood behind the desk, lifting a magazine with two fingers and making a disgusted face. "Filthy pig. He got what was coming for him." Dante failed to see how, after squinting and making out the title on the shiny cover, jerking off to Hustler deserved that kind of death, but he let it slide. Vergil was cracked, at any rate, and had some really odd notions about things that wouldn't get a second thought out of someone else. "Surely you feel it. We, brother dearest, are the only things living here now."

Dante paused at that a moment, sniffing around to himself. He'd figured the smell of blood was because it was everywhere in the office, but if he thought about it...He hated when Vergil was right. He really did. "Oh."

Vergil started picking his way back around after dropping the magazine, before pausing and making an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. "That reminds me. Come along, Dante, help me with something in the trunk." And with that, he pushed right past his brother and headed to the car (amazingly damage free, for now, considering Vergil's driving), with Dante trailing behind. He reached up and rubbed at his nose, as Vergil moved around (and it was then that Dante noticed Vergil had left the keys in the trunk), before it was popped open, and he gestured to something within its dark confines.

"The hell is that?" Whatever it was, it was lumpy, covered in plastic, and really...Smelled. Really. It was that sickly sweet odor of decay, and Dante, honestly, had come across it enough in his life to know what it was. "The hell is it, a dead dog? Why is there a dead dog in our trunk, Vergil?"

"Dog wouldn't be far off." Vergil reached in and flipped back part of the plastic, which Dante recognized as a shower curtain lining, before giving a concealed heave and backing off a few steps, one hand clamping over his nose and mouth.

"The fuck."

"She was in the mattress." Vergil glanced back at Dante, the corners of his mouth twitching in sadistic amusement at Dante's display of a weak stomach. "A prostitute, I imagine. Don't tell me you've never heard the urban legend, little brother, of whores being stuffed between mattresses after their oh-so upstanding clientele kill them."

Dante gave a cough before waving his hand in front of his face, grimacing. "Yeah, I heard it. But why the fuck did you put her in the fucking trunk? How the hell are you gonna get the smell out?"

"Febreeze. Don't be stupid." The plastic was flipped back over the corpse, and Vergil moved to one side, shifting it around to lift it out. "Grab the feet. We'll leave it in the office so it will burn, too." When Dante hesitated, Vergil shot him a glare, and snapped, "Don't dawdle. I want to be gone from here by dawn."

Dante reluctantly moved forward, holding his breath as he drew closer, before grabbing the plastic wrapped feet, and together they lifted the body from the trunk, and started for the office once more. "Dear Jesus, this bitch is heavy." It was said with a stifled sort of voice, because Dante refused to breathe, especially through his nose, as long as they were carrying her.

"You're carrying the light end, you big baby." It was said on a grunt, as Vergil gave a slight shove, making Dante stumble where he was walking backward. "I imagine it's all the silicone she had shoved into her chest. She reeked of it where she was stabbed."

"The fact that you got close enough to smell it worries me, brother o' mine." That earned Dante a dark look, which he returned with a tight-lipped smile, as he backed into the office, feet almost slipping on the blood-slicked floor. Once far enough in, the body of the unknown prostitute was dropped unceremoniously onto the body of the desk attendant, and they were headed back to their room once more, Vergil making a pit stop to slam the trunk shut, and informing Dante they'd worry about the smell when they were ready to leave.

And then promptly took the shower first, after they'd made their way into their room once more, leaving Dante with gathering everything together and hauling it out to the car (Dante's pride and joy, a '70 Hemicuda, fully restored and detailed, which was why he was glad it was damage-free). By the time he was finished - because Vergil had a lot of shit - Vergil was out of the shower and getting dressed.

"You're driving." Because Vergil was horrible on a stick. "You shower, I'll ready everything to burn it, and then we are leaving." Really, like Vergil would have to tell him twice. The only hitch in that plan was the fact that Vergil had used all of the hot water for his own shower, and Dante was stuck rushing through one that went from luke warm to freezing in the short time he was in there. He dressed just as quickly, to rid himself of the chills, before giving the room one last once-over to make sure he'd grabbed everything and stepping out into the parking lot, where the sky in the east was lightening to a pinkish-grey, finding Vergil standing in front of the office, playing with a matchbook from the cubby in the dashboard.

"Ready? Hey, what are we supposed to do with these?" Dante held up the room keys and dangled them at Vergil, only to be waved off.

"Keep them as a souvenier." It was said with another sadistic twitch of his mouth, and Dante scowled at him, before shoving them back into his pocket and making his way to the car, before sliding in and cranking it, hoping Vergil realized that, with a car like that, it would take a minute for the engine to warm before it was completely ready to be put through its paces. And, he supposed, at least the actual interior of the car didn't contain a hint of the smell of decay, even if it did smell a lot like Febreeze and leather. That was ifine/i.

He watched Vergil step inside the office for a moment, as he gave the engine a little gas, already moving to pop the clutch and slide it into reverse, one foot moving to the gas, one to the brake. If they were going to get out of there in a hurry, by God, Dante was going to do it right.

It was a few moments, before Vergil appeared once more and started making his own way to the car, as casually as Dante had ever seen him do anything, even if the office behind him had a strange orange glow in the few windows. When he climbed in himself, almost as if they were out for a Sunday drive or some shit like that, Dante only offered a, "You might wanna buckle in," before letting off of the break and giving the steering wheel a hard twist, nearly flinging Vergil into the dashboard when he slammed on the brake once more.

"Idiot," Vergil snarled, only to get Dante's arm as a brace to the chest, forcing him back in seat.

"I told you, baby, you might wanna buckle in." Before Vergil even had time to retort, like Dante just knew he wanted to, he was slamming into first and beyond, feeling the engine protest at the abuse before responding. Oh, they were going to leave marks, sure enough, but that was okay, too! It wasn't like Dante was dumb enough to use tires with a distinctive tread pattern, with all the shit he got into.

It took a bit of backtracking, making way for the onramp to the highway, and Dante glanced over a Vergil before pushing a button on the radio, because he knew his brother, and he knew it was going to be a long damn drive, and he was going to at least have music for it, no matter how Vergil turned his nose up at 'the sorry excuse for noise' Dante called music.

"So. Where to." Vergil looked like he was going to be sick, all from Dante's driving, and Dante reached back to the slit pouch on the back of Vergil's seat, finding a bag he'd stuffed there, just incase of something like that. "Here. Don't puke in my goddamn car, or you'll be walking."

Vergil gave a slight growl, a corner of his top lip pulling back to expose fang, but took the bag anyway, even it a little grudgingly. "Just head east." There wasn't any destination in mind, anyway, and that, at least, gave them a starting point. "And for the love of God, drive like a normal human being."

"Um hm." Which meant Dante wasn't going to listen at all. 'Drive like a normal human being' in Vergil terms meant drive like a granny, and that wasn't happening. Ever. "You sit back and let me handle this, douche. Catch up on your beauty sleep." It was accompanied with a smartassed-grin, which earned a half-hearted glare.

Oh, it was going to be an interesting trip. Of that, Dante had no doubts whatsoever.


	2. Conspiracy Dirge

The next stop was Alabama. Dothan, to be exact, not far from Alabama's border shared with Georgia, because Florida had been pegged as the next 'big' stop (and the first, but Dante wasn't counting). But instead of cutting through the southern half of Alabama to the Florida Panhandle, it had been decided they'd make their way into Georgia, catching I-75 the rest of the way down, since it was the only major highway remotely in the area Dante knew with any sort of certainty. He'd only been below the Mason-Dixie line a few times in his life, which was why the entire situation was ludicrous to begin with, but that was okay.

It was while they were still on the highway, passing signs alerting drivers to the distance left to Dothan, Vergil, who'd awoken from a three hour nap, snickered to himself upon seeing one, before rolling his eyes. "That's so quaint."

Dante hadn't even been aware the fucker was awake, and had gone into a type of...Road hypnosis, starting enough to jerk the steering wheel almost hard enough to move them to the next lane. Which would have been bad, considering the traffic still present on the highway in the growing dusk. "What the fuck are you babbling about."

"Dothan." At Dante's clueless, uninterested look, Vergil snorted, waving a hand slightly back in forth in the air as he spoke. "'Then the man said, "They have moved from here; for I heard them say, 'Let us go to Dothan." So Joseph went after his brothers and found them at Dothan.' Dante, I'm frankly ashamed you don't know your Bible verses. Shamed, brother." The hand was waved to dismiss Dante, as Vergil went back to looking from the window once more. "Of course, it makes absolute sense that here in the middle of the Bible Belt one would find towns with names that are biblical references. They are so completely trapped in that hypocrisy, after all."

"Uh huh." Fucking nutcase. "That's mighty special of you." Dante didn't care. He didn't. He cared about stopping for the night, not whatever the hell the town was named after. Which was why he pointedly ignored the dark glare Vergil shot him and leaned over, nudging the volume on the radio up a bit. "Fucking sucks, man. All I can pick up is the fucking classic rock stations." It was said more to himself than anything, but oh. Oh. He knew Vergil would have something to say to it. Vergil had something to say to _everything_. That was part of the bitch of being caught in the car with him when he wasn't asleep. And he knew why Vergil slept so much. He did. It was because Vergil was a _wuss_ and got _carsick_, and that, for whatever reason, struck Dante as being hysterical.

"Well, Dante, I advise you to look around and realize where you are. I imagine you feel right at home, with the uncultured country bumpkins that just overpopulate the south." Which proved right there that Vergil was an asshole. Not that Dante questioned that at all, but his smug little smirk made Dante want to reach over and slam his head into the passenger window, just to watch it bounce off. But he refrained! He did, though the hand that had gone back to resting on the knob of the gearshift tightened until the moment had passed. Vergil? Was one lucky son of a bitch, in the sense that Dante wasn't looking to splatter blood on the car's interior.

Instead, he snorted, returning his gaze to the highway. "Aw, baby, why you gotta be like that?" He waggled the fingers of the hand that rested almost negligently atop the steering wheel flippantly, rolling his eyes. "Why don't you do something useful and look through that thing I picked up. Figure out what hotel's not gonna suck." He nod-gestured to the console shelf in the dash, where he'd tucked the little booklet away, along with a slew of other miscellaneous items, including a lighter, no less than three matchbooks, half a bag of Skittles, bottle caps from the soda bottles littering what space there was in the back seat (again, Vergil had a lot of shit), and for some strange reason, a pair of needle-nose pliers.

Vergil made a noise in the back of his throat and extracted the booklet, settling back catty-corner in the passenger seat with his back resting against the frame of the door (he was lucky that shit was locked, Dante noted), flipping through it idly. "Oh, this is just disturbing." He snorted, and loudly, ticking off hotels in the negative with a finger. "It is a sad day, brother, when the most decent hotel appears to be a Courtyard Marriot." A page was turned, and Vergil made an amused noise, his mouth twitching. "Excuse me, when a _Hampton Inn_ is the most decent hotel."

"Who the fuck cares." God, Vergil was such a snob. He really, truly was. Like he had any room to say anything, after the disaster that had been their first motel. What, with the hooker in the mattress, the Deliverance-esque townspeople, and the fact that they'd committed arson to get rid of the evidence of a demonic attack...Yeah. Dante would have happily taken to sleeping in the car, if it meant not having to deal with shit like that. "Is it a hotel where we won't find a hooker in the mattress? Because that's all I care about it." It wasn't like Dante was the one paying for it to begin with, anyway. That was all on Vergil, because the fact that they were even doing this had been his idea to begin with.

Dante made a mental note to never listen to Vergil's ideas again.

"Baby." It was said offhand, as Vergil continued thumbing through the booklet, inwardly incredibly amused at the things he came across. "Hn. This reminds me. Remind me to find the Blumbergs while we're here. They owe me money."

"Everybody fucking owes you money." It was true. If someone had any kind of name, be it in the common-knowledge base, or the smaller, more secular one of those involved in the demonic happenings of the world...They owed Vergil money. Half the time, Dante wanted to ask Vergil why he cared, for two reasons. One, Vergil was fucking loaded. Dante understood this, and yes, yes he took advantage of it, considering the events that had come about to make them 'partners' of a fashion. It made it perfectly okay, too, because it was Vergil's job as a big brother. Secondly, why did Vergil keep giving these people money in the first place, if all he did was bitch about it? It didn't compute. But, if Dante really thought about it, a lot of shit Vergil did didn't compute.

"So where are we headed. We're about to get off the highway, so make it quick, Sparky."

Vergil arched a brow at the stupid nickname, but said nothing for a long moment, as though he were contemplating. "I suppose we have no choice. The least skeevy place is the Hampton." It was obvious Vergil was less than thrilled with that, but that was okay, too. Vergil was a friggin' bitch and a half, and none of that mattered. Dante reached over and snatched the booklet from him, scanning the page until he found the entry on the Hampton, for the address. Because God forbid Vergil do the sensible thing and give it to him so he didn't have to look while he was driving.

"Fine. Wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic. It could be a fucking cardboard box right now, as long as I can get away from you." Being trapped in a car with Vergil for hours on end had seemed good in theory, but in practice it just pissed Dante off. He tossed the booklet back across, hoping to peg his fucker of a brother in the forehead with it, but the asshole caught it, much to Dante's disappointment. "Now we just have to find Montgomery Highway. Where's the fucking MapQuest?"

Vergil sucked in one deep, horrified breath when, after one look at the road to make sure they were steady in the lane, Dante ducked down, digging around in the floorboard under Vergil's seat for the thing. It took every ounce of willpower the elder twin had not to reach over and grab the steering wheel, for his own peace of mind, because Dante was retarded, and that proved it. And he was down there a while, before he resurfaced with it and tossed it to Vergil.

"Look it up, I'm driving." Because Dante hadn't just dug around the floorboard with no consideration as to him running them off of the highway at all. It was tempting, for a moment, for Vergil to smash his head into the driver's side window, but Dante was safe, in the fact that he was, in fact, driving.

Once they'd gotten off the highway and tried to find the hotel, they'd gotten lost three times, due to Vergil's inability to help Dante look for street names. By the time they actually reached the hotel, Dante, seriously, was ready to strangle the bastard. He had never been so glad to see Vergil's back as he departed from the car to get a room, as he was at that particular moment, just to have a few moments of peace and quiet to sit in the car (his baby) and be alone. Listening to Vergil, when he'd suggested the 'trip' (which was beginning to feel more like they were outrunning something, though Dante hadn't said anything about that) had been Dante's worst idea to date. He was certain of that.

Not that he'd had a lot of choice in the matter. If he'd said no, it could have gone two ways: He'd have been out his brother, and probably his car because he knew the bastard wasn't above stealing it from him, or he'd have gotten 'kidnapped' and taken along, anyway. Because Vergil was crazy.

And that was the root of it all, if he took the time to think about it. Vergil was insane, and Dante was just feeding that mania, every time he nodded, smiled, and promptly purged the dirty and wrong from his brain. It was a complete catch 22, and it was all Vergil's fault. Somehow, Dante was completely sure of that fact. How Vergil convinced himself when he looked in the mirror in the morning that, yes, he was functioning well in society, Dante would never know. Because he didn't. Not that Dante was exactly stable himself, but that wasn't the issue. Vergil being a psycho fucknut was.

Dante hummed to himself, tapping at the steering wheel as he looked out from the hotel, at the places around, realizing, no, they hadn't stopped to eat since leaving that disaster in Mississippi. Well. They'd stopped, for things like gas, but for food? No, because Vergil had decided to sleep the whole time, which left Dante with another situation that had been impossible to win. If he'd gone on and gotten food and let Vergil sleep, Vergil would have needled him to death about it. If he'd made Vergil wake up to eat, Vergil would have become more of a bitchzilla than he was on a normal basis.

And Vergil could say what he wanted, he was, in fact, a bitch. He, seriously, was worse than a woman, with none of the fringe benefits.

Seeing Vergil headed his way once more just lowered Dante's spirits further, and he sighed, resting against the steering wheel and folding his arms over the top of it, as Vergil opened the car door and climbed back in, giving his older brother the most bored, apathetic look he'd probably ever managed. "Well?"

"Well, what?" It was snapped, as Vergil pulled the door closed and neglected the seatbelt, as always, even though Dante warned him time and time again to buckle the damn thing. "Just...Park somewhere." His tone suggested he wanted to throw a 'minion' in there somewhere, and that he hadn't paid a damn bit of attention to where their room was even located. Lovely. Just what Dante was looking forward to, considering he'd end up carrying the majority of Vergil's shit from the car. Again: It was starting to feel more like they were running, especially with the sheer amount of books Vergil had dragged with him. Oh, Dante was curious about that, of course, but the opening to ask about it just hadn't presented itself, considering.

Like Vergil would give him a straight answer to begin with.

He sighed and sat up, moving to shift out of park, throwing Vergil a half-scowl. "Man, I should fucking slap you for being fucking retarded."

"Excuse me?" The look it was accompanied by begged Dante to try his luck. It really did. Vergil, after all, was not above knocking the retarded fool unconscious against the steering wheel and driving himself. And he honestly hoped Dante realized that. "Aw, who has his big boy pants on today?"

And it was shit like that right there that caused Dante to grind his teeth painfully together to the point it gave him a headache. It was. And Vergil knew that shit. "Uh huh, shut the fuck up." Car parked, Dante grabbed the half bag of Skittles in the console and stepped out, praying to God he could at least lock himself in the bathroom for a while. The next stop they went to, Dante didn't care how much it depleted his bank account; he was getting his own goddamn room. Away from Vergil. So he could sleep and poke around and, by God, whack it in peace, without Vergil breathing down his goddamn neck. He was.

So there he was, leaned against the back driver's side, chewing on a Skittle as Vergil finally clamored out (he clamored, he did, Dante'd swear), lugging one of his (many) bags with him. "Well?" Dante rolled his eyes at that. "Come on, stop standing around and touching yourself, you filthy beast."

Dante was going to put a tire iron through Vergil's face. He swore to God he was.

He'd even halfway moved to get the one in the trunk, before taking a deep breath and counting to ten. He could do this. He could! He could put up with Vergil's crabby ass for just a little longer, because he sincerely hoped one or the other of them would just go to sleep soon. Dante was not above using that as a method to get away from the elder twin, at all, so after reaching ten plus some change, he trailed after Vergil, to at least have an idea of where the room was, when he had to go back and start bringing in stuff. Oh, he wasn't going to bring everything in, just what he needed. And, he swore, he wasn't touching a goddamn thing of Vergil's. He wasn't. He wasn't his brother's little slave monkey.

And, of course, Vergil couldn't have anything if it wasn't on the top floor. Which was exactly where he led Dante, poking around for their room without any consideration for the other people they encountered along the way. In truth, Dante figured he'd knocked the guy down in the admittedly horrid and bright swimming trunks on purpose with his bag, not even once glancing back to see if he'd done permanent damage. Again: Vergil was a fucking psycho.

Next to fall victim was a cookie-cutter soccer mom, herding her kids to the elevator. She caught the bag in the face as Vergil turned around to face Dante, and that proved Vergil was doing it on purpose because he had been looking right at her. "Dante." His tone actually bounced with amusement as the woman rolled around on the floor behind him, clutching her bloodied nose. "Give me the keys."

If there had been any concern for the woman whatsoever, it left at that moment, as Dante scowled and bared his fangs at Vergil, giving a slight snarl. "Ayeah, that's a negatory. What the fuck do you need my fucking keys for."

"I told you I was going to collect my money." Vergil held out his free hand, tapping his fingers to his palm impatiently. "Now, Dante. I don't want to be gone all night." The woman had rolled to her knees, one hand still pressed against her nose which dripped blood in a small pool beneath her, but neither twin spared her a glance. "Dante."

"Man...Fuck you." But it was said as Dante went about extracting the keys, and he took a few steps forward before slapping the keys into Vergil's hand, hard, as he brushed past. Bastard.

"Aw, look who's wibbling." The amusement was back in Vergil's voice, and it made Dante grind his teeth together painfully. It didn't help that Vergil swung a foot out and caught Dante's shin, making him stumble down the hall a few feet before he was able to catch himself against the wall, and glared back at the porcupine with pms he was forced to call brother.

"You? Are pushing my fucking buttons, cocksucker." At that, Vergil only clucked his tongue and shoved past Dante roughly, on purpose, leaving a very puffed up, very pissed off Dante in his wake, and not caring a bit about it. In fact, he cared so very little, he said not another word until he'd found their room and keyed his way inside, waiting for Dante to quit throwing a temper tantrum and follow, like the big baby he was. And sure enough, Dante trailed along behind, after taking a few deep breaths to keep from going berserk on the fucker, because really. Who wanted to put up with that kind of bullshit? No one, that was who.

However, once inside the room (a suite, though, sadly, there was still only one bedroom, and Vergil had it in his head he was punting Dante to the couch), he swung the bag onto the counter of the kitchenette before unzipping it and digging around a moment, all before he even acknowledged Dante had entered behind him and shut the door. "Here." He tossed something over his shoulder to Dante, figuring either the younger twin would catch it, or he'd raise hell because he was a butterfingers retard; either way, Vergil didn't particularly care. "To keep you docile."

Dante, luckily, did catch it, and took a moment to blink at it before realizing what it was. "Aw, I knew you loved me, babydoll." Just like his brother, really, to ply him with alcohol to keep him from bitching about Vergil taking the car. "I almost feel bad for calling you a cocksucker."

"Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." Vergil had gone back to digging in the bag, and, once he'd decided everything else was in place, zipped it shut once more before palming the car keys he'd kept hooked around a finger by the ring and turning to face Dante. "I even thought to bring you a change of clothes, muffin, so you have no excuse to be a filthy mutt. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Uh huh." It was almost a blessing in disguise, if Dante really thought about it. He had booze, Vergil was leaving, and with it working out like that, he could eat whatever the hell he wanted to without hearing the elder twin bitch about it. In short, handing over his car for a few hours or so really had started to look like an awesome idea, and he waved Vergil on as he strode past, giving a, "If you kill anybody, don't leave 'em in the trunk," over his shoulder.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for several long moments, he was content with worrying with getting the cap off of the bottle and starting on emptying it, when his eyes trailed to the bag Vergil had brought in. He didn't know why, but he was curious to see what Vergil had put in it, other than the obvious. The bottle was set aside, and he moved over to where Vergil had left the bag, glancing around himself a moment before unzipping it gingerly, as though it had some kind of alarm or ward on it. And, knowing Vergil as Dante did...That wasn't something he'd put past him. But what would be the point, if he'd put a change of clothes inside for Dante as well?

When nothing happened, Dante had no qualms about digging through the bag, making a mess of everything perfectly packed within. He didn't care, to be honest, whether Vergil would have a hissy fit because he'd bunched up his clothes in the extracting of his own (and, of course, they were clothes Dante hated, because it was obviously an attempt by Vergil to make him look 'decent'), and Vergil could flat out kiss his ass on the matter. And he was disappointed, when he found nothing of interest within, giving a snort and going to zip it shut once more, before he noticed something odd about the bottom of the bag. What it was at first, he had no clue. It just didn't seem...Level, really, and after some prodding around, he discovered why.

Inside was a flap, and when Dante gave it a tug, it revealed another level of the bottom, that was obviously supposed to stay a secret. Dante raised a brow at that and lifted the flap, finding nothing within the 'secret' compartment but a leather-bound book and a small wooden box, which he had no problem lifting out before he glanced around once more, as though he expected a pissed off Vergil to pop up out of nowhere. He set the box aside, because the book was far more interesting, and knowing Vergil, it would be something stupid stuffed inside, anyway.

The book itself was unremarkable, except for the fact that the leather cover at the edges looked worn, and it had that smell all old books did. Vergil's scent was all over it, at well, which proved it did belong to him, indeed, and after another close inspection of the outside, Dante snickered to himself, flipping the front cover open. "Never took you for the diary keeping type, bro."

But it was softly said, that irrational worry that Vergil would show up still very present.

Not that it mattered, once he started flipping through it. It was written in characters Dante didn't understand. It totally figured Vergil would be a douche enough to write his diary in code, so even if Dante found it, he wouldn't be able to read it. In truth, with the dashes and such that made up the pages upon pages of whatever it was, he couldn't even identify it as Vergil's handwriting to begin with. Well, had it not been for the random dates scribbled here and there throughout, and other random, perfectly normal english words scattered throughout.

Bastard. He needed to keep it in a language Dante could understand. What fun was finding his big brother's diary and not being able to read any of it?

The words were strange, though; those that he could make out, anyway. He supposed it would make more sense if he knew how they connected, but as he flipped through, he couldn't help but feel like something was very, very off about the whole thing. It went back years; the first date was from before they'd found one another again, and the last...From right before Vergil had dragged him into the stupid idea of the road trip. And there was a marked difference in how it was written, from a few days before that. The last almost seemed like Vergil was panicked, because the characters and words were sloppy, as though hastily written.

Dante, quite honestly, wasn't sure what to make of it. And it certainly didn't help that growing sense of worry that all was not as it seemed.

It was with a growing sense of dread, and a tinge of paranoia (well, in his opinion it wasn't paranoia since they'd gotten everyone else but himself and Vergil) that he placed the book inside the secret little compartment once more, just as he'd found it. He couldn't read it, anyway, and it wouldn't do him a bit of good to dwell on it, anyway, since he had no idea what any of it meant. The box went in again as well, without Dante even bothering to look inside. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know anymore. The flap was placed down again, as close to how he'd found it as he could manage, before Vergil's things were rumpled up and pushed over it, as though Dante had simply dug through and pulled his own things out, before he reached for the bottle again, hitting it a little harder than would have been normal for him.

Something had happened, and Vergil wasn't telling him about it. It figured, of course, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to think on being dragged along, except that it must have been bad, whatever it was. Not comforting at all.

But he wasn't going to worry! He wasn't. He was sure (stupidly so) that if it was that goddamn important, Vergil would have said something. Or he had and Dante hadn't paid attention. That could have been it, as well, but he didn't think about it like that. Instead, he went looking for the phone book, to find food. That had to be the problem, really. He hadn't eaten in a few days, and his stomach was letting him know it, and it was fucking with his head.

That was all.

Which was bullshit, as, a few hours later, he found himself still internally fretting over the whole thing. The bottle was empty, which, if what he was thinking was true, in retrospect wasn't all that intelligent, but it ended up being just a little too late to worry about that kind of shit at that point. He just needed sleep. Or something. He did. It would fix it, and by morning, he probably wouldn't remember any of it at all.

And Vergil could just kiss his ass if he thought Dante was going to sleep on the couch. He could. Hauling himself up from the chair he'd been flopped in, he weaved his way over to the bed, stripping the whole while as he did so, before plopping right onto it and burrowing his way under the covers, until only the top of his messy hair could be seen. Fuck Vergil. He could sleep on the couch. Dante was tired, and sleepy, and worried, and drunk, and he didn't give a shit what the elder twin thought on the matter.

He must have seriously been exhausted without realizing it, because worry and all, it took no time at all to get to sleep. He hadn't even stirred when Vergil returned, and didn't even feel the half-hearted shove that was an attempt to pry him from the bed. Nor did he hear Vergil curse him bitterly under his breath until he, too, finally gave in and went to sleep.

In Dante's opinion, had he been awake, he'd have told the fucker he'd slept enough that day to begin with.

But once Vergil had settled down and gone to sleep himself, it was relatively peaceful. Well. At least for a time, it was. It was four that next morning, only a scant hour before Vergil himself would wake up on his own, when there was a loud knock at the door. He jerked awake, being the lighter sleeper of the pair, only to find Dante halfway sprawled across him, pinning him to the mattress with his scrawny ass (he was serious...where Dante's hipbone dug into him was painful and the boy needed to eat more), and drooling on his shoulder where his shaggy, empty little head rested, and he was snoring. He had the audacity to speak of Vergil's own, but at least Vergil didn't drool.

It was with much disgust that Vergil squirmed his way out from underneath Dante who, while scrawny and appearing as though he'd snap in two in a strong wind, was much heavier than he looked when he was simply dead weight. Vergil, honestly, figured it was because the boy's skull was made of lead. He'd never seen anyone else take so much head trauma as Dante did, and still have any functionality whatsoever. Then again, it wasn't like he credited Dante with much to begin with.

Dante didn't even bat an eyelash the wrong way, as, when Vergil finally managed to pry himself from beneath the bony idiot, he immediately groped for, and found, Vergil's pillow, hugging it to his chest, the rhythm of his breathing (snoring) never once breaking. That was vaguely sad, really. Clingy, disgusting, shaggy little monkey. Vergil halfway expected him to start sucking his thumb, as well. Vergil snorted, before starting for the door, where it was being beaten upon once more. Whoever it was would soon be dead. Of that, Vergil was certain, as Yamato was scooped up and swung behind his back, before he even bothered approaching the door and swinging it open.

And there, lo and behold, stood a member of the hotel staff, looking as official as official could be, leaving Vergil...Vaguely unimpressed. He couldn't begin to fathom why in the hell they'd be bothering him at such an ungodly hour, oh, but they were going to suffer for it.

"What." There was no sense of congeniality there at all, the way Vergil said it. It was irritated, he sounded tired (he was), and he sounded like he'd rip the fucker's face off if he didn't get a good damn explanation for waking him up in the middle of the night (he would).

"Sir." He hated that shit, when it was so damn condescending. Didn't these fools realize he was better than them? "We've received complaints about..." He paused, peering at a folded scrap of paper. "Two white haired gentlemen? A woman earlier this evening complained one of them" -it was obvious what the idiot was implying- "assaulted her with a bag, and that she was minorly injured."

"And?" Really, what a waste of time. Was Vergil supposed to remember something like that? So very busy, he was, after all. What between Dante wibbling like a big fat baby, and going to collect his money and getting some far more valuable in return (with a growing body count, as well)...He was supposed to remember some whiny she-beast he supposedly assaulted. "Well, that's very special of you to wake me up to inform me of this, however I haven't been here at all, my twin has been sleeping, and I believe if it were truly that important you could have skittered your ass up here sooner. Now."

And with that, the door was shut. And locked. And chained. And it would have been warded, as well, were Vergil not so groggy. He ignored the 'Sir?' coming from the other side, as he made his way back to the bed and propped Yamato against the wall, before reaching across it to take his pillow from Dante. Little fucker had a death grip that needed to be seen to be believed, apparently. "Dante." There wasn't any response, of course, unless one counted the loud snort of a snore the younger twin gave, before trying to turn over the other way. "Dante. Quit being a retarded baby sheep and give me my goddamn pillow."

It was answered with an uncoordinated slap sent vaguely in Vergil's direction, before Dante rolled over completely onto his stomach, taking the pillow with him and keeping it pinned between his stupid scrawny body and the bed. But that was fine. Vergil was not above being a supreme dick about things, which was why he reached over and jerked the other one, under Dante's shaggy mess of a head, right out from under him and fluffing it out. Normally, that would have made him inwardly squirm, because germs and Dante were dirty. However, they were twins, and when worse came to worse, he wasn't above lowering his standards. Especially not when it came to maligning Dante in some fashion, because as the elder twin, he was allowed.

Only to be foiled, really, as Dante, still dead asleep, worked the pillow he'd clung to out from under him and used it to replace the one Vergil had stolen, all while Vergil watched, a bit dumbfounded. Vergil figured it had to be because Dante was an animal. Animals moved by instinct. And instinctively Dante was being a dick just to piss Vergil off. Of course he was, and that all made perfect sense. Dirty little bastard.

But it was all fine, because for the rest of the night, at least, there were no more incidents. Well. There was that one thing that had woken Vergil an hour later and gotten him completely up and moving, and wishing he'd warded the damn room, anyway, but that was something he was keeping to himself. In fact, it wasn't until he had to physically kick Dante from the bed to get him up and awake that the silence was even broken, with much 'fuck you's and 'goddamn motherfucker, let me sleep's from Dante's big fucking mouth. But even though he was loud and displeased and everything in between, it did get Dante in the shower, cursing Vergil bitterly the whole while.

After his shower, as he was getting ready to leave, Dante noticed a book next to the bag still on the counter of the kitchenette, and though he didn't touch it (he wanted to) he still inspected it thoroughly before glancing at Vergil over his shoulder. "Hey. Verg. Where the hell did this come from." Not what was it, because just from its tattered cover and apparent age, and the markings on the cover, as well as the Latin all over it, he could tell what it was. No, Dante was more interested in where it came from.

"I told you. I went to get my money." As though that were the most obvious thing in the world.

Dante rolled his eyes, where Vergil couldn't see, because God forbid he have to listen to him bitch. "Yeah, and? How much fucking money did you give them in the first place? Grimoires ain't cheap." Not at all. The underground occult black market made a killing on things like that. Dante, were it not for a lot of luck and being in the right place at the right time, would have never even dreamed of getting his hands on one, much less the small, but somewhat impressive, collection he'd managed to accumulate over the years.

"Well." That was a bad sign; the tone Vergil used. It meant someone probably died over that book. "I'm afraid they simply didn't have the amount I required on hand." Two people, probably, if Dante had judged it right. "So I took the next best thing." That book was probably worth more than Vergil would ever give anyone. "A mere trinket, really." Did Vergil smell like blood? Dante couldn't tell. The scent didn't fade for them as fast as one might think. "Paltry, actually, but I suppose adding it to what we've already collected can't be a bad idea." Dear Jesus, had he slaughtered the entire family?

"Uh...Huh." Dante wasn't going to question it further. He really wasn't. In fact, the only way he even let on he knew what had happened was his offhand comment of, "There better not be a goddamn body in my trunk. Where are my fucking keys." He was ready to get the fuck out of there. He really and truly was. Things from the night before still gnawed at him and made him worry and fret, and he figured driving in unfamiliar territory would help sort that right out of his thoughts.

Vergil waved an imperious hand at Dante toward the bag, ignoring him completely. "Get the bag and the book. We're leaving."

"Yeah, I gathered that, but where are my goddamn keys, Vergil." Vergil should have hoped and prayed he hadn't lost them. Truly. Or Dante was going to beat him until he couldn't walk. Because having to hotwire the fucking car would suck. And Vergil would be paying to get it repaired, and a new key set made.

"I have them, you wibbling little snot rag. Now come on." And he didn't wait for Dante to answer, as he swept up the room key and headed out of the door, leaving Dante no choice but to give a loud, irritated, 'Goddammit' behind him, as he gathered up both the bag and the book to trail behind.

**Author's Note:**

> The car is a 1970 Plymouth Barricuda with a 426 true Hemi engine and six speed manual transmission, in the off chance you're wondering. That really only becomes important later on, but if you need a mental picture for it, there you go. The bucket seats were ripped out, replaced by a bench seat from a Chrysler 300, somewhere around the 1968 model. It's painted a rust red with black side stripes that loop around to the bottom of the back fender, with a flat-black hood.
> 
> Also, this story is part of an entire AU universe in which Vergil never raises Temen-ni-Gru, and never departs for Hell. Just to see how differently things would have gone had he stuck around instead of running.


End file.
